


why don't you dance?

by honeysigh



Category: TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Study, Falling In Love, M/M, Past Character Death, Romance, ghost!yeonjun, guitarist!beomgyu, tarot reader!beomgyu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26864482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeysigh/pseuds/honeysigh
Summary: “Are you finally gonna admit that you're some spirit guide, and not just a ghost?” Beomgyu asks. Saying it out loud feels odd, setting the energy in the room off. It's like... something they haven't acknowledged, despite acknowledging it. That Yeonjun is here for one more thing.That he will leave when he's finished.He tries to hide his wince and fails miserably when Yeonjun meets his gaze with something unreadable. “Would it make a difference?”(Or: Yeonjun is a ghost. Beomgyu is a tarot reader with a dormant dream. And the heart is a fickle, fickle thing.)
Relationships: Choi Beomgyu/Choi Yeonjun
Comments: 40
Kudos: 182





	why don't you dance?

**Author's Note:**

> as a heads up - this fic doesn't really have a sad ending. i just felt the need to make that known because it's my first time going for a ghost story au. _however_ , a character is dead by the time the fic starts. no discussion of the death really happens.
> 
> short descriptions of the tarot cards for each section of the fic can be found in the end notes! and if you'd like a playlist to listen to, [here's](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0sLYKAoT8vma2UW95OpSH4?si=_LoYV59vRmuWBQbRrc5KdA) the one i had on loop as i wrote the fic! 
> 
> and of course, enjoy. i seriously had fun writing this one ♡

`when i die, i want your hands on my eyes:`

`i want the light and the wheat of your beloved hands`  
`to pass their freshness over me one more time`  
`to feel the smoothness that changed my destiny.`  
`- pablo neruda`

**four of swords**

Beomgyu is busy making dinner when the ghost appears.

He appears out of the corner of his eye, at first. A wink of something dark at the edge of his vision that makes him turn his head curiously, wondering if it was simply a bug on the wall (to which he would scream and call his neighbor, Kai, for help). It’s easy to dismiss.

The second time is harder to forget. This time it’s like something is blotting part of his vision, and he pauses his stirring to look suspiciously around his studio apartment.

There’s nothing there.

“Going crazy, huh?” He mutters to himself, turning back to his food.

So he doesn’t really blame himself for his shock when he looks up again out of caution to see a boy staring back at him.

His heartbeat is muted as he stares, mouth open. The guy has long, blonde hair and catlike eyes that gleam as he watches him. His skin is deathly, sickly pale, and his clothes are faded in color. For an absurd moment, Beomgyu almost thinks he’s see-through.

The boy smiles faintly. Even with the light expression, he still manages to bare his teeth. “Hello.”

The lamplight near his bed flickers as he speaks, as though in warning. Beomgyu’s pot of ramyeon boils.

Beomgyu blinks, and then says, “Do you want to eat? You look hungry.”

“Rude,” the boy says, but his smile widens.

  
  


As it turns out, Yeonjun can’t actually eat.

To demonstrate, he has Beomgyu feed him some of the sushi Soobin had brought him yesterday, fully knowing how much he hates seafood. Apprehensively, Beomgyu puts a piece into his open mouth… and watches it fall through his body like paper before falling out and splatting unceremoniously against the floor. It’s only then that he realizes Yeonjun is floating.

“Disturbing, isn’t it?” Yeonjun snickers. “Yeah, we ghosts don’t need to eat.”

Beomgyu has never been one for the health sciences, but he’s fairly sure the only reason why he hasn’t passed out yet is because of the shock, freezing his veins and raising his heart rate into overdrive by survival instinct alone. It’s also why he’s bold enough to reach out unprompted and wave an arm through Yeonjun’s translucent form.

What he gets is a shock of cold so strong it makes his hair stand up on end, teeth chattering as he yanks his arm back. Yeonjun scowls down at him. His form flickers for a brief moment. “Dude, that’s so invasive,” he says disapprovingly. “At least ask before you decide to feel me up?”

“Sorry,” Beomgyu says with a grimace, cradling his arm to his chest. The cold fades into a dull ache that he somehow feels behind his teeth.

But unless Beomgyu is dreaming (he’s pretty sure he isn’t, if the very real burn of spicy ramyeon goes by any indication) or going insane (not something he can prove right now), he technically has no reason _not_ to believe that this is all real. That Yeonjun is a ghost. That he’s haunted the apartment in the five months Beomgyu’s been here.

“ _Inhabited_ , not haunted,” Yeonjun corrects sourly as Beomgyu sips his glass of milk in a valiant attempt to take the spice away. “Haunting is such a stereotype. Like, c’mon. We aren’t _that_ bored, unless we’re angry.”

“Does haunting not include knocking things over and making weird noises?” Beomgyu asks. Yeonjun narrows his eyes and opens his mouth to respond, but Beomgyu holds his hand up. “Rhetorical question.”

Now that he thinks about it, it’s true; he’s had sort-of-weird things happen in his apartment. The kitchen knife he’d made sure to set in its case the night before, found on the ground across the apartment the next morning. The three small succulents that had tipped over from his desk onto his small rug with a miraculously small amount of soil spilling out. The one night Beomgyu had gotten tipsy after finishing a composition and watched impassively as his glass of wine shifted across the table, as though someone had been tapping their fingertip on the glass with more force than necessary.

“I take it back,” Yeonjun says without a hint of guilt. “That was me, and I was bored.”

“That’s what I thought,” Beomgyu mutters. “So rude of you, though.”

“Can you blame me?” Yeonjun pouts. “Imagine how lonely it gets, floating around while some fresh adult makes a home of what used to be yours. Okay, that sounds more depressing than it needs to be. I really was bored.”

But there's one thing lingering at the back of Beomgyu's mind, past the muted terror at having to recognize that ghosts are actually real—

“You aren’t…” Beomgyu begins carefully. Yeonjun may be see-through, but his gaze is piercing, felt like a heavy weight he can’t say he wants to push away. “I-is there a difference between a spirit and a ghost, with you guys?”

“Are you asking me if I’m one of your guides?” Yeonjun says, amusement clear in his voice. “No. Everything they taught you in tarot class is correct.”

“I taught myself tarot, actually,” Beomgyu says flatly. He glances over at his altar and deck of cards, carefully placed into a box. He wonders if Yeonjun was there to watch him stumble through readings and shuffle his cards anxiously and blushes. “So then… spirits are guides, and ghosts—”

“Are lost souls,” Yeonjun fills in. “Searching for purpose. The last thing they need to get done before they can peacefully move on.”

“But nothing is shown without a reason,” Beomgyu says, tilting his head to the side. “So why did you decide to reveal yourself to me?”

There is a hint of sadness in Yeonjun’s eyes as he watches Beomgyu watching him. “Because I think we’re alike,” he says honestly. “Lost souls. People without guides.” Eyeing the dark, unfinished corner of Beomgyu’s studio where a guitar lies, gathering dust, he adds, “Artists without muses.”

Beomgyu looks away.

  
  


Here is how it goes: Beomgyu drops out of college a solid year into his pre-med career, catching the mistake of far too much school and far too much stress early. The word _drop-out_ in South Korea is tainted with shame, disgust curling over people’s tongues when they dare speak it. Naturally, Beomgyu’s prideful parents are furious.

Here is another thing: Beomgyu had come out to them as bisexual a week prior.

“Wow,” Taehyun had whispered when Beomgyu had let himself into his best friend’s apartment, crying helplessly. “Rich countryside Daegu parents… sticklers for success. What a recipe for disaster, Gyu.” When Beomgyu only sobbed harder, Taehyun ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, sorry…”

He was right, though. Beomgyu jokes about it now, how he was set up for failure. How easily he fits into the gay outcast artist kid coming of age stereotype that authors obsess over these days, except what those authors fail to include is the very real, very exhausting loneliness, and the excommunication from a family he once used to cry in his bed as a kid over the thought of losing. Learning to fend for yourself. Living—

“A life so difficult you wish you kept your mouth shut and kept stifling yourself just for the steady comfort?” Yeonjun finishes with a knowing quirk of his lips.

Beomgyu laughs. “Exactly.”

The thing is, Beomgyu hasn't really bothered with telling anyone how he ended up where he did, so saying it out loud makes him wince even as it feels like a relief in the same breath. But Yeonjun doesn't seem to care or mind, listening in with an outsider's point of view that he hasn't had since leaving.

When he asks about Yeonjun's life, though, the ghost winks and brings his pointer finger to his lips. “Don't worry about that just yet,” he says. “I'm here for you, Beomgyu. This time, everything's about you.”

Beomgyu wants to ask what _this time_ even means but simply goes quiet instead. “These implications are terrifying,” Beomgyu says.

Yeonjun laughs. “You'd better be ready. I've been told I'm a lot to handle.”

  
  


**knight of pentacles**

Beomgyu learns quickly that Yeonjun likes to talk. Apparently watching someone move about their life in your space for five months harbors a lot of questions, and—“Not talking to anyone since becoming a ghost probably didn’t help,” he snorts, propping his chin in one hand in a way that makes Beomgyu flustered, with how Yeonjun always _looks_ at him. “What? Does it flatter you, having all this sudden attention?”

Beomgyu blushes. “Um. It does, actually.”

Yeonjun’s lips curl into a smile. “Ah, you’re too cute.”

But— _anyway_. Yeonjun talks. He asks Beomgyu about his parrot one day (“Aish, I haven’t seen Toto in forever, hyung! Don’t make me miss him.”), and then changes topics to what Beomgyu would do with three wishes as some sort of weird icebreaker (“Solve world hunger, obviously!”) and then asks, one morning as Beomgyu gets ready for work, “So, why are you drawn to tarot?”

He’s sitting—or floating just above, really, but Beomgyu’s given up on technicalities—the small countertop net to the sink, watching Beomgyu organize his altar. He shrugs.

“I like the thought of knowing what people consider the unknown,” he says. “I know what I see is what the spirits decide they want me to see, but still. Plus, I have a little shop online for people to give me their money. My best friend has a sister who is really into it.”

“The one with pink hair?” Yeonjun asks.

Beomgyu snorts. “Yeah, he lost a bet,” he says, “and now his hair is pink until further notice. Anyway, that’s Taehyun.”

“Oh, I know,” Yeonjun says. “How long have you known him?”

“Since I was eight and he was seven.” Knocking his head into the bottom row of Taehyun’s teeth so hard the younger boy had bled for hours afterwards while karma, however unintentional the injury had been, came in the form of an unflatteringly large bump on his forehead that made him the laughingstock of his class. Beomgyu smiles to himself thinking about it. He swears Yeonjun’s gaze softens at the sight into a palpably warm thing, settling over his skin.

“Hm.” Yeonjun tilts his head to the side. “Pull a card for me?”

Beomgyu cleanses his deck before each pull, to keep the energy clean. When you go out of a space dedicated for you, you automatically bring back a kind of negative energy that messes with readings, but in his haste to get to work (and to impress Yeonjun, though the thought irritates him), he doesn’t bother.

“Give me a card for Yeonjun,” he whispers as he shuffles, “that represents his current situation.”

A card tumbles out face down almost immediately. Beomgyu stops shuffling and picks it up carefully, turning it over.

He stares at it for one long moment.

“What is it?” Yeonjun asks. When Beomgyu tells him, he starts to laugh. And laughs until he has to wipe a translucent tear from his eye, shaking his head. “Oh, that’s so stupid. Well, that _does_ explain things pretty well, doesn’t it?”

Death stares Beomgyu in the eye, as if in challenge. Beomgyu shakes his head, snorting as he slides the card back into the deck.

  
  


What Yeonjun learns in return about Beomgyu is that he, for all his loner behavior and mostly solitary life, is still an extrovert at heart.

Any opening Yeonjun leaves gives him a chance to ask questions or answer some himself. He shows Yeonjun his tarot deck in full (actually cleansing it this time), and pulls three cards: Eight of Wands, The Fool, and Ace of Swords.

“Explain,” Yeonjun says, looking vaguely stressed when all Beomgyu does is raise an eyebrow.

So he does—that Yeonjun has had his eyes set on the future his whole life. That he has a sort of childlike innocence to him that comes with luck, and faith in all the right places, and hard work. He watches Yeonjun's expression as he speaks, unreadable for a moment before his brows furrow together in an obvious question— _Well, why am I here?_

“The Death card means rebirth, by the way,” he blurts, startling Yeonjun from his thoughts.

He raises an eyebrow. “Huh, really?”

Death, in tarot, does not mean literal death. Very little do messages come in with a clear, defined meaning of an event, and Beomgyu is pretty sure his cards had only wanted to tell a joke when they showed him Death earlier, the same way Soobin had called Beomgyu despondently about a dying plant and Beomgyu drew The Sun as a response. But what Death means—“It's about laying down your past and starting anew. Transformation and evolution. You know, cutting someone off. Quitting a job that was never good for you in the first place.”

“Dying and then halfway coming back as a ghost?” Yeonjun adds wryly.

Beomgyu snorts. “Yeah, that too.”

“I just don't understand,” Yeonjun murmurs. “This isn't rebirth, this is something in between.”

“You can interpret it as a process,” Beomgyu offers. “Maybe you're in the midstage. Also, I didn't cleanse beforehand, so it might have been picking up on my residual energy, too.”

At this, Yeonjun's gaze snaps back to him, suddenly curious again. There is something ridiculously predatory in his eyes, and in the way he looks at people. It makes Beomgyu simultaneously want to run even as he feels pinned to his seat. “Oh,” he says. “So rebirth in your case, then?”

“Sure,” Beomgyu says, guarded.

Yeonjun jerks a thumb back over his shoulder, and if Beomgyu changes his focus like a well-made camera, he can look over and stare straight through the soft rays of morning sunlight through his window, particles of dust making his throat itch involuntarily. He doesn't want to look, but he knows what Yeonjun is pointing at. He hasn’t touched his guitar since he moved in.

“Let's stop talking about me,” the older boy says quietly, determinedly. He quirks an eyebrow at Beomgyu when he gulps and slides his gaze away. “And let's talk about you.”

“We already talk about me,” Beomgyu says weakly.

Yeonjun gives him a deadpan look. “If I could flick your forehead right now, I would.”

He does it anyway. It's a shock of cold against his face so startlingly freezing that he has to gasp and pull away, and Yeonjun laughs as he shivers.

  
  


The truth is, Beomgyu _does_ want to talk about it.

It’s the kind of thing that brands you, in a way. Becomes so tied in with who you are that as much as it sickens you, the want to talk about it still fights to pull itself up to the surface. Maybe he hasn’t explored his relationship with it enough, or maybe it’s something budding within him, waiting to grow.

He explains it to Yeonjun, haltingly, like this: in the sudden, forced independence of leaving his home and learning to fend for himself, he has been in some sort of gray area. A stalling, is what it is. So many things happening at the same time—new job, new emotional burdens, new apartment—that the dream he’d been planning on bringing out as soon as he took medical school off the list never got its time to grow.

And then it became a sort of anxiety, to think about moving forward with it. It might be rude to say this, but… “I grew up around doctors and lawyers and the like,” Beomgyu says, waving his hands around in what he hopes resembles _or something_. When Yeonjun just blinks at him, he winces awkwardly. “Anyway. But, um… I guess it was weird to think about pursuing anything that wasn’t a major like that. You know, something considered potentially unstable as a career choice.”

“Ah,” Yeonjun says, nodding. “Too many ahjummas telling you about their nieces and nephew’s failed attempts at art school?”

And that’s Choi Yeonjun—always good at lightening a situation, with none of the condescending energy or poorly-timed jokes to come with it. Beomgyu bites his lip around a grin. “You always get me, hyung.”

“That’s what makes me such a good hyung,” Yeonjun says smugly, before urging him forward. “Anyway, I was a dance student, so I understand. But tell me more.”

He isn’t sure what to say. His words fail him as he sits there, staring hard at his deck of cards.

“You can pull a few cards if you think that would help,” Yeonjun jokes. Then he tilts his head to the side curiously. “Wait, have you tried that?”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu says, trying to hide his relief at not having to keep going just yet. He finds tarot is always an easy shield to hide behind, a form of logic blanketed in spirituality. “There are specific spreads you can do, to answer open-ended questions. I did a horseshoe spread almost as soon as I got my cards a few years ago about what music meant to me, and…”

Yeonjun must catch the uncomfortable look in his eyes, because he raises an eyebrow. “I assume they didn’t give you a very nice answer.”

Beomgyu thinks about how he had felt when he pulled The Star out of his deck upside down, when asking for a card that represented the long-term effects of studying music instead of what he’d been trained his whole life to strive for. “Not really,” he laughs, but there’s no feeling in the noise.

Yeonjun squints. “Pull again.”

Beomgyu purses his lips. “But…”

“C’mon,” Yeonjun urges. “Maybe the cards were, like, picking up on your pessimist energy. Is that how it works? I have no fucking idea. But I want to see.”

Beomgyu wants to argue further, but as soon as he meets Yeonjun’s eyes and sees the stubborn determination there, he gives in with a sigh, shaking his head as he lifts his deck. “Ugh. Fine.”

He chooses a simpler spread this time: a card for the past, a card for the present and a card for the future. “All three of them will represent my relationship with music,” he explains as he shuffles his cards quickly. “I’m gonna pull a card from the bottom, just to get rid of your residual energy. I don’t think my cards are used to anyone really… being in my space like that.”

Yeonjun looks transfixed but impatient, like a child learning how a new toy works. “Your shuffling skills are top-tier,” he says absentmindedly.

Beomgyu snorts. “I’ve been doing tarot for years. I would hope I’m at least okay at shuffling.”

Talking out loud to his cards seems embarrassing in front of someone, so he closes his eyes and stays quiet as he shuffles. When he pulls the Page of Wands out from the bottom, he snickers. “Yeah, these cards definitely pick up on your energy. The Page cards represent each suit at its infancy, in a way. Tons of creative potential, and all that.”

Yeonjun laughs. “I wish I’d learned about tarot when I was alive. If I’d known about all the ego boosts I’d be getting…”

Then he trails off, his previously inquisitive gaze going empty with a faraway look. Pity wells up in Beomgyu and he bites his lip before he says, “I’m gonna pull my cards now.”

Yeonjun blinks, and his gaze goes back to normal. “Go ahead,” he says.

“I like to pull from the top, like most other readers,” Beomgyu says as he shuffles. The whole time, he repeats _my past with music_ in his head, steadying his breath. “If a card falls out, though, that’s sort of a message that it’s giving me a better answer than the top card could.”

From the top, he draws Knight of Wands, upright.

“A ferocious pursuit of a new creative idea,” Beomgyu says, shaking his head as he bites down a smile. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

For the present, he pulls Judgement upright, and pauses.

“Judgement seems like a cool card,” Yeonjun says dryly when Beomgyu stares down at the card blankly. “Would _love_ to know what it means someday.”

“Sorry,” Beomgyu says. He bites his lip. “It’s just… Judgement represents an ending of a stage of life, making way for a new beginning. So… yeah.”

Yeonjun’s eyes brighten. Sunlight solidifies the weight of his gaze and the lines of his ghostly form, making him feel as real as he’ll ever be. “Oh, that’s so fucking good. C’mon, pull for the future, I wanna see.”

Beomgyu sets Judgement off to the side apprehensively, lifting his deck again. He shuffles for what must feel like hours, sucked into the lull of a pattern he’s all too used to. “Give me a card that represents my future relationship with music,” he whispers—

A card tumbles out instantly, face down. Yeonjun makes a noise of surprise before clapping his hands together excitedly. “Pick it up!”

“I _am_ ,” Beomgyu says, disgruntled. He sets his deck down and then picks the card up carefully, turning it over.

Something swoops in his stomach as he stares at The World, heart in his throat. He’s always had a weird kind of emotional reaction whenever he pulls cards—some sort of feeling, maybe, that something _finally_ understands, and he shakes his head in awe, eyes burning as he sets the card down.

“Eternal completion,” he whispers. “Fulfillment. Ending a cycle, because you’ve found your purpose.”

Yeonjun is quiet. There is nothing smug about his aura, as he sits there. Beomgyu doesn’t have to sneak a glance up at the ghost to know the soft gaze he’s giving him. “Do you understand?” He says. His voice is sweet in the empty air of the apartment. Beomgyu wishes he could ask yes or no questions to his deck, just to find an answer—just to see if Yeonjun really is a guide. If this is what he’s here to do.

  
  


Beomgyu’s guitar is the pivotal bane of his existence, and he means this in the most over dramatic way possible. But it sits there anyway, refusing to disappear. Yeonjun himself knows how to play and stares longingly at it sometimes. Beomgyu would offer comfort, but it’s difficult to do so with someone who can never touch one again.

  
  


He tells both Soobin and Taehyun about Yeonjun as soon as the ghost is out of earshot (can ghosts hear from far away? Beomgyu will have to ask later). The thing about his two closest friends is that they sit on opposite ends of spirituality, meaning—

“Holy crap,” Soobin breathes, static crackling over the line as he shuffles into what Beomgyu knows is his favorite gossip position (curled up into fetal position on his bed). “Beomgyu, how do you get all these cool experiences? All I've gotten recently was Jiwon unnie telling me she's into astrology, and I don't even _know_ anything about astrology.”

And then there is this:

“Come the fuck here,” Taehyun says, sounding genuinely worried as he leans over the table and puts his hand to Beomgyu's forehead. “You're okay, right? No fever? There's no way you're going this crazy.”

“You've been meaning to learn astrology for, like, seven years now,” Beomgyu says dryly to Soobin, who only whines back. To Taehyun, he slaps his hand away and glares at his friend, who glares at him right back, and says, “I'm _not_ going crazy, Tyun. I'm being serious! There's a ghost in my apartment!”

He says it a little too loudly, because the disgustingly sweet couple two tables away give him weird looks. “You see?” Taehyun says, in that condescending tone of voice that makes Beomgyu want to hit him over the head with a semi truck. “Even these strangers think you're certified insane. What on earth do you mean, _ghost_ , hyung?”

“I mean ghost,” Beomgyu says, leaning over and giving Taehyun his most serious look. Evidently he doesn't look very serious, because Taehyun wrinkles his nose at him and then leans away instantly, like he didn't just lean into Beomgyu's space to make a show of checking for his temperature. “Taehyun, I'm being completely sincere right now, okay? His name is Choi Yeonjun.”

“Give me his age,” Taehyun demands. “Exact date of death, down to the second. His zodiac sign. His mother's name—”

“You can't be serious,” Beomgyu groans, dragging a hand over his face. “Look, he told me he's twenty-one, okay? Or... at least, that's how old he was when he died. And he's a Virgo.”

He only knows this because it's customary, in his eyes, to ask whenever possible. It didn't really seem to be a good idea, though. It's November, meaning—

“Oh, yikes his birthday was after he died,” Taehyun says, shaking his head with a wince before he realizes what he's doing. “Wait. No empathy for someone who isn't real.”

“You fucking suck,” Beomgyu groans, angrily sipping at his coffee. He'd brought Taehyun out to the nicest coffee shop in town (the one he works at), buttering his best friend up with some free drinks courtesy of Jimin, for this big reveal, and this is what he gets. “I can show you him, if you're this suspicious.”

Taehyun snorts. “Of course I'm this suspicious, hyung,” he says flatly. “You did not just bring me out here to tell me that you have a _ghost_ suddenly haunting your apartment.”

“Actually, he's been there for the five months I've moved in,” Beomgyu clarifies as he slides out of his seat, throwing his jacket back on. So much for fine dining and brunch, or whatever upper class people and broke college students pretending not to be broke do with their lives on the daily. He slants a gaze at Taehyun, who looks ready to retort even as he drinks his own cup of tea. “Nope. No smart responses, I don't want to hear it. Get up, loser.”

November in Korea is chilly. It's the freezing kind of rain and snow when the weather drops too low, leaving their teeth to chatter and cheeks to go pink as they make their way back to Beomgyu's apartment complex. 

He knows Taehyun and knows where he comes from—knows what he's used to—and the first couple of times he brought Taehyun to his new apartment, he had been... embarrassed. Waiting for judgement, which was ridiculous to even contemplate, because as verbal as Taehyun is about doubts, he would never once judge Beomgyu for trying to live his own life. “I could help out, if you needed it,” was what he offered. “We could live together, hyung. I know you'll say no.”

Beomgyu grew up a prideful, arrogant son, and said no.

He likes his apartment, for what it's worth. His neighbors are nice. He made friends with Kai, who falls under the category of gay theater student brimming with potential, and Jisu, who does songwriting on the side as she pushes herself through a childhood education major. Whenever he thinks about it, it's always with a wry sense of self-awareness that they do sort of fall into the classic coming of age stories he likes to talk shit about.

Either way, that isn't important right now.

“Holy fuck,” Taehyun whispers when Beomgyu opens his door and steps in to see Yeonjun with his legs on the couch and torso on the ground, eyes closed and hands folded over his stomach. “Wait. _Wait_.”

“Yeonjun hyung, wake the fuck up,” Beomgyu calls as he shuts the door behind him and yanks his coat off, silently cursing maintenence's inability to balance heat and cool air during winter and summer. “I have a guest who, quite literally, wants to see you!”

Yeonjun opens his eyes and tilts his head to the side to face them, like he was never asleep in the first place. Beomgyu learned this quickly about him, and ghosts in general: he doesn't need to sleep. Sleep, for him, is a dangerous territory he'd rather leave uncharted for now. “Oh, this must be Taehyun,” he says in a lazy drawl that makes Beomgyu's cheeks heat up involuntarily, too used to it directed at him. “What's up, dude?”

“I think I'm gonna pass out,” Taehyun says weakly, and Beomgyu groans.

Yeonjun snorts as Taehyun leans into Beomgyu for support. “Well, we can't have that, can we?”

“You believe me now?” Beomgyu hisses as he drags his friend over to the couch. Yeonjun still has his legs rested on the couch, body bent into what looks like an uncomfortable position as he watches them with a tranquil air. “That Yeonjun is a ghost?”

“Well, he's definitely see-through,” Taehyun says faintly, looking vaguely green.

“Yeonjun _hyung_ ,” Yeonjun corrects flatly. When Beomgyu turns to give him a glare, the ghost puckers his lips into a kissy face that, for a brief moment, sets something desperate low in his gut. It will take him weeks to process what it means, to have someone so untouchable be so far away despite being so close. For now, he mistakes it as simply wanting to hit the older boy over the head.

So that's how Taehyun takes it. It still takes an extra day or two for it to settle, and afterwards Taehyun calls him one morning to say this: “I am never doubting you again,” he says resolutely. “Literally ever. You are _always_ correct, hyung.”

“Damn fucking right, little bitch,” Beomgyu says smugly.

Taehyun groans. “If I could hit you right now, I would.”

And this is how Soobin takes it:

“Wow,” Beomgyu murmurs out loud to no one in particular, watching with amazement as Soobin settles himself onto Beomgyu's bed with a sense of familiarity that comes with years of friendship, except he's engaging in conversation with a ghost he's never met before. “How on earth did _you_ end up taking it better than Taehyun did?”

“What was that?” Soobin says distractedly, too busy blushing at a compliment or a stupid pick-up line Yeonjun must be giving him.

“Nothing,” Beomgyu mutters, shaking his head as he turns to the kitchen to make tea.

Soobin gets along with Yeonjun surprisingly well. For all of his best friend's bashfulness, he has a layer of charming sweetheart underneath that forces ahjummas into a state of constant endearment and people their age into fawning puppy love, and Yeonjun is clearly no exception. In return, Yeonjun shows Soobin a tender side that Beomgyu, despite being subjected to it constantly when Yeonjun isn't poking fun at him for his silly habits, still feels flustered over. Naturally, they spend the whole time obsessing over each other.

“Good lord,” Beomgyu mutters as he's ushering a flattered, endeared Soobin out. “Never come back, okay, hyung?”

“I wasn't done telling him about my plants yet!” Soobin whines, but laughs and gives Beomgyu a hug before he goes anyway. “I'm glad you got a nice ghost to stay with you, Gyu. And he's handsome, too! Just lovely.”

“Get out, and stop acting like my mom,” Beomgyu says wearily before he closes the door.

“He's so cute,” Yeonjun sighs dreamily as he props his chin in his hands. He's lying on his stomach with his elbows up and legs kicking back and forth behind him, which would look natural if he weren't floating up close to the ceiling. It's disconcerting. “Yah, why did you never tell me you're friends with such a cute boy, huh?”

“Be quiet,” Beomgyu snorts, plugging his phone into the charger. He tells himself the twist in his chest is just the thought of all of the readings he has to do, if he wants to pay the electricity bill with what money he has from work at the coffee shop. 

“Don’t talk to me like that! You could at least give me his number,” Yeonjun teases.

Beomgyu doesn't know what comes over him, in that moment. “You're _dead_ , hyung,” he says. Not harshly, just with exhaustion laced into his tone. “You, like, can't even eat.”

Yeonjun is silent as Beomgyu rummages through his apartment for clothes. “I know,” he says quietly, and guilt crashes into Beomgyu so quickly at his voice that it makes him sick. “I was joking. I know what I can't have.”

“I'm sorry,” Beomgyu whispers. “Hyung, I—”

“I get it,” Yeonjun says. There is nothing sarcastic in his tone. No anger. Only a kind of calm that comes with being resigned, knowing you have no reason to be pissed off now that you aren’t even alive anymore. “You're tired, and you have readings to do. I'm not mad. Go get some rest.”

Desperate to apologize but unsure of how to go about it, Beomgyu approaches the ghost one evening and says, “I think you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Yeonjun says with a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows when Beomgyu rolls his eyes. “What are we talking about, specifically?”

“The guitar,” Beomgyu says, fidgeting. “I… I think I should pick it back up again. I drew the Ace of Wands thinking about it earlier and it kind of hit me like an epiphany, so… I think it’s time.”

“It was always time,” Yeonjun says wisely. And then—“I hope you aren't trying to say this as an apology, or something,” he says. He fixes Beomgyu with a piercing stare that makes him dizzy. “You'd better be doing this for you.”

Beomgyu opens his mouth, and then closes it again. And then he musters up the energy to say, “I am. I promise I am.”

“Good,” Yeonjun says, breaking into a smile. “We'll start tomorrow, okay?”

**ace of wands**

Beomgyu is pretty sure he’s given himself allergies with how much he sneezes as he dusts his guitar off.

“Damn,” Yeonjun laughs as Beomgyu holds in the ninth sneeze, violently shaking with the force of it. “You were really trying to forget it was there completely, huh? Also, did you know you kill brain cells every time you hold in a sneeze?”

Beomgyu sniffles. “I already lose brain cells talking to you anyway.”

“Hey!” Yeonjun squawks. “What kind of dongsaeng talks to their hyung like this, huh?”

Beomgyu laughs, shaking his head as he gets back to work. “It’s okay, hyung. I know you adore me anyway.”

He sneezes again just as Yeonjun mutters, “Obviously.”

Eventually the dust gets cleared off, and Beomgyu stares at his guitar like he’s never seen it before.

Under the afternoon light, and in the dark corner of his apartment, the instrument seems almost ghostly. Maybe it’s a side effect of Yeonjun hanging around him too much, but… he feels the guitar like a solid presence, hovering at the edges of his mind.

“Don’t be scared to pick it up,” Yeonjun encourages.

“I’m not scared,” Beomgyu tries to snap, but it comes out weak. Yeonjun doesn’t comment.

There is not a single spark as he lifts the guitar for the first time since he moved in almost half a year ago. A small sum of time for people who see stagnation as a cycle of life, but for Beomgyu, it might as well have been years. His nose itches with remnants of dust as he fits the guitar into position. He doesn’t turn to face Yeonjun. 

Belatedly, Beomgyu realizes that the guitar’s presence feels much like his cards—wood, string and some pieces of paper, all waiting for energy to be channeled into them, and for some prophecy to be fulfilled.

His philosophical moment is broken when Yeonjun tsks impatiently. “Are you gonna play or what?”

Beomgyu snorts. “Hyung, it’s gonna take forever to tune this.”

And forever to reacquaint himself with a mostly-forgotten dream, but he pushes the thought away in favor of sitting at the foot of his bed and laughing when Yeonjun cringes at the off-tune strings of his guitar. Yeonjun recommends him old songs to play that Beomgyu has never heard of, the older boy smug in his status as an oldie in a way that Beomgyu feels painfully fond of. It’s in these moments—the in betweens of chaos and overturning your small little world for a passion you refuse to give up on—that make him feel most at peace.

It goes like this, in three steps. Two truths and a lie that Yeonjun forces him to acknowledge almost instantly.

  1. With Christmas coming up, Jimin puts out a new array of drinks and sweets that have people running in droves to spend their hard-earned money, meaning work gets horrifically busy. So busy that Beomgyu has to slow down on his online tarot readings, which frustrates him to no end.
  2. His impulsive purchases include (but are not limited to) the following: a bullet journal, a chakra guide, new markers, and a soft brown leatherback notebook that he decides to use to write lyrics.
  3. Unfortunately, since he’s so busy at work all the time, Beomgyu comes home every night too exhausted to do much more than sleep and eat, meaning he can’t really practice with his guitar—



“Don’t bullshit me right now, you fucking liar,” Yeonjun accuses just as Beomgyu is about to lay down. “Don’t you dare tell me you’re tired.”

“I’m tired,” Beomgyu says.

Yeonjun lowers himself to Beomgyu’s level, and then flicks his forehead none too gently. The shock of cold is always deeply unsettling in the way it tries to take over him completely, and he squeaks, squirming away. “Beomgyu,” Yeonjun says disappointedly. “I know you. You’ve pulled all-nighters doing readings just to go to work right afterwards.”

“But this isn’t going to give me money,” Beomgyu says dryly. “Which, unfortunately, I so desperately need.”

“Ah, the concept of monetary value,” Yeonjun says, shaking his head. “The whole reason why you went along with the whole medical school thing, I’m sure. Since it’s what you’ve grown up with.” When Beomgyu fidgets uncomfortably, refusing to respond, Yeonjun tilts his head to the side. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Beomgyu bites his lip, looking away. “Maybe. I just—I need the money. And I have readings to do, and work to go to, so it never feels like I have enough time to just… indulge in whatever other interests I have.”

Yeonjun’s gaze softens with a kind of sympathy that would normally make Beomgyu’s hair stand on end with immature irritation. Instead, it soothes the prickling of his skin. He doesn’t realize he’s tensed up until Yeonjun says “Beomgyu, you don’t have to do all of this if you don’t want to.”

Which sounds out of place in the silence of the apartment, because what _this_ entails, so far, has been nothing. What Yeonjun seems to want from him is a dramatic kick-off, and Beomgyu is unsure of how to say it straight to Yeonjun’s face that he can’t give him that. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he says instead.

“I know it isn’t,” Yeonjun says gently. “Just take your time. Take it slow. There isn’t a way to do this perfectly, Beomgyu. Some dreams start off on the wrong foot. They’re still dreams, aren’t they?”

And the thing is, it starts off so simply that Beomgyu is almost unsure of what to make of it.

“What are you scribbling down in that notebook of yours?” Jimin asks as he slips inside of the break room, rummaging around in the fridge. It was busy when Beomgyu scurried off on his break, but it must not be now if Taehyung feels like he can go on his. The older man has always been an enigma in Beomgyu’s eyes—perfectly good at embracing his inner child even as he overworks himself to death. It’s sort of relatable, which is relieving.

Beomgyu bites his lip, sliding the bookmark into the pages and closing it gingerly. “Um… it’s nothing.”

Jimin snorts as he takes his lunchbox out. “Don’t _it’s nothing_ me,” he scolds. “You normally sit here, staring off into space while you eat your food. Now you’re neglecting lunch completely to focus on whatever you’re doing. So c’mon, spill.”

Beomgyu winces, knowing he's been caught. Jimin has always been... startlingly observant. “I'm, just,” he starts carefully. “Um, this is a notebook.”

“Wow,” Jimin says, unimpressed. “I had no idea. And what are you doing with this notebook, might I ask?”

Beomgyu laughs nervously. “I'm... scrapbooking?”

“Beomgyu,” Jimin sighs. “You just became an adult, like, a year ago. There's no way you're scrapbooking.” His eyes soften, and he tilts his head to the side. “If you really don't feel comfortable you don't have to tell me anything, you know.”

“I know,” Beomgyu mutters. “Sorry. I'm just writing lyrics.”

He doesn't quite know why the idea of Jimin knowing this makes him nervous, past the whole _new start_ thing he has going on. Jimin actually looks excited for him, raising an eyebrow as he smiles. “Oh! This is a new development.”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu says, smiling back. “I've... I've wanted to do this for a while. But in between moving into my own place and trying to keep a job on top of tarot, it's been—”

“Difficult to nurture pretty much anything else?” Jimin nods understandingly. “I get it. And you're working hard as is. But sometimes it's nice to have something you genuinely enjoy to fall back on. You know, the kind that makes you lose all sense of time because you're so into it. Right?”

“Right,” Beomgyu says with a grin. Jimin always gets it, somehow.

“I always am,” the older man says proudly. Then he picks his chopsticks up, eyes brightening even further somehow. “Oh, speaking of new hobbies! Would you like to hear about my husband's new interior design obsession? I have to say, it's been one of his better moments.”

Beomgyu laughs, settling in for a story. “Of course, hyung.”

Jimin and Taehyung are one of the brighter points of Beomgyu's job. Tell that to Jimin's face and the older man will frown and say, _But it's all about the customer service, Gyu!_ but Beomgyu means it. The rest of the people who work at the shop—Jeongin, and Jiheon, and Felix, and... well, he could sit all day and talk about his coworkers and how they've brightened up his life too—like to sit around post-shift for a few minutes just to see Taehyung pull up in his car on days where they have date nights, because they're just that cute. It's a kind of connection that is palpable in the air, at least to Beomgyu, who lives in a constant state of being a hopeless romantic and only covers it up with cynicism because he doesn't have time for love.

The thought process felt natural for a long time, until recently.

“I'm really thinking he wants to turn each part of our apartment into a separate style,” Jimin says, sipping his coffee and shaking his head fondly. “I mean, how would you feel about floor-to-ceiling windows in your living room?”

“Sounds like a life I'll never have,” Beomgyu sighs dreamily.

Jimin snickers. “Hey, you can do a lot with music. I know med school was the original goal for you, but life provides us with endless opportunity, right?”

Beomgyu scrunches his nose up. “I mean, I guess. But only the best make it to the top, right? All those people we see on TV and on production credits for music... how many people before them were weeded out?”

“That's such a depressing train of thought,” Jimin sighs with a pout. “I mean, think of it this way: if you love something, the amount of money you make from it shouldn't matter.”

Beomgyu stares at him blankly. “... Um.”

“Beomgyu,” Jimin says, sobering up a little bit to watch him carefully. “I'm being serious. What you love should come first. You love tarot, don't you?”

He doesn't think about it often, but tarot has become one of the most important things in his life, and when he says so, Jimin nods. “And you don't do it just for the money, right?”

Beomgyu winces. “I mean, a partial motivator is the money, but... you can't do tarot unless you have a kind of connection you can take pride in, I think. It's all about how intuitively connected you are, and it... makes me happy, I guess, to be able to answer other people's questions. And to be able to find answers to some of my own.”

“Exactly,” Jimin says. “Honestly, I respect your craft so much. But what I'm trying to prove here is that even though tarot gives you the side cash you sorely need, it also means a lot to you in general to be able to be connected, right? And to find answers?"

“Yes,” Beomgyu agrees, half-unsure of where this is going.

“So when it comes to music, why don't you have the same energy?” Jimin asks. “Why doesn't it fill you with glee, to be able to connect to your lyrics, and your instrument of choice? I mean, both tarot and musical instruments are the same in a sense, from what you've told me. That since cards are just pieces of fancy paper with pretty art at the end of the day, it's a reader's job to put energy in it.”

It's a haunting mirror of Beomgyu's thoughts, the day he picked up his guitar for the first time in months. Immediately his mind flashes to the card he'd pulled to represent how the day would go—The High Priestess in all her glory, representing following one's intuition. A full _yes_ to any question one may be asking, consciously or not.

He gets goosebumps for a moment as he realizes Jimin is voicing something Yeonjun would, down to the very last word. “Ah, you're right,” he says sheepishly. “I should've figured that one out.”

“No,” Jimin says, shaking his head. “Beomgyu, I think you've known all this time. But for some reason you refuse to accept it.”

Beomgyu opens his mouth, and then closes it again, blinking at the older man. “Who knew hyung could be so mean?” He mutters after a moment.

Jimin laughs hard enough to shake his cup of coffee, some of it sloshing over the side as he steadies himself again. “Ah, you know I only say it because I care about you,” he says amusedly. “As I do with you all. You guys are like precious babies to me!”

Jiheon chooses that moment to walk into the break room, deep blue hair that she'd gotten dyed tied into a high ponytail. She wrinkles her nose, looking between the two of them. “Yikes, are we being soft right now? If so I can leave. I'd rather not partake in any of this.”

“Please,” Jimin snorts. “Let me be soft of you guys! I'm proud of you all, seriously.”

“Aish, exams haven't even started yet,” Jiheon whines, blushing when Jeongin pokes his head in. “At least wait until _after_ I fail, oppa.”

“She's definitely gonna fail,” Jeongin says confidently, and Beomgyu rolls his eyes when Jiheon predictably punches his arm.

“Okay, okay, it's getting too rowdy in here,” Jimin says, but his smile is wide and his gaze is painfully fond. “Wait, don't tell me you guys left Felix up at the front by himself. You _know_ he can't make drinks for shit yet!”

“Hyung had better learn quickly,” Jeongin says with a shrug, but he worriedly runs out of the room anyway. Jiheon sits for her break and waves at Beomgyu, who tries to shake the heavy feeling in his chest at Jimin's earlier words to smile back.

After things quiet down, Jimin fixes Beomgyu with a serious look once more, biting into his apple as he makes to leave. “I need you to understand what I was talking about,” he says. “Take some time to digest it if you need to. But your monetary value to society should not dictate your life.”

 _I know it's been difficult for you because you've grown up with it_ , is what Yeonjun would reassure. The words fill his mouth so vividly that it almost feels like the ghost is right beside him. “I'll try to understand, hyung,” he says tiredly, and Jimin takes the hint as he pats Beomgyu's shoulder and leaves.

“Why are we talking about monetary value?” Jiheon asks with a snort. “This isn't an economics class.”

“Ah, I wish I was you,” Beomgyu sighs jokingly. “Young and incabable of understanding adult conversations... wish it were me.”

Which results in Jiheon throwing her lunch box at Beomgyu, and he laughs until he can't anymore.

But this is how it really begins: “I didn't want to ask while Jiheon was in the room, just in case it ends up not working out,” Jimin says quietly before they leave. Taehyung's car is pulling up amidst traffic, and the air is so cold it obscures Jimin's face from where Beomgyu is trying to look straight at him. “But, I was thinking... you know it'd be nice to have some music playing this holiday season.”

“You... always play music,” Beomgyu says slowly. “During every season.”

“I meant live music, but okay,” Jimin says dryly. “I mean, you know how Jeongin sings, right? And Felix is getting into it too. Oh, and you always have your friends! You can bring them along. Ah, but I'm getting distracted—I'm saying go ahead and bring your guitar sometime for a performance in front of our regulars and whoever else. Whenever you're feeling confident enough, just let me know.” He gives Beomgyu an earnest look that he thinks, amused even as he tries not to impulsively burst into tears over the proposition, must have made Taehyung fall head over heels for him. “It starts from here, okay? It starts with baby steps.”

Beomgyu is so overwhelmed with emotion for a moment that he has to blink away tears, feeling like a child. “I—hyung,” he says. “Thank you so much, I'm... this is so...”

“I know,” Jimin says. “This is your dream. These dreams are in your hands. You cultivate them, and I'll push you to succeed, okay?”

“Okay,” Beomgyu says in a small voice.

When Taehyung pulls up finally, he rolls down his window to greet the two of them. As always, he asks Beomgyu if he wants a ride home, to which Beomgyu politely declines, and watching them drive off feels like something cinematic, almost. What Jimin's presented him with is a small opportunity that he would have written off as a pointless offer, before all of this. Before Yeonjun.

Outside, snowflakes start to fall. Beomgyu shoves his hands into his pockets and starts making his way home, his mind occupied with what he should practice first.

“I notice you do daily tarot pulls,” Yeonjun says. The ghost making observations about him is unsurprising at this point, but it’s one in the morning and Beomgyu is hunched over his desk, scribbling down lyrics. His voice is also far too close to his ear, and when he turns around Yeonjun is right there.

“Hi,” Yeonjun says cheerily, laughing when Beomgyu jerks away in shock. “Dude, it’s just me.”

“I was just getting into things,” Beomgyu says irritably. “What did you say, hyung?”

“I said,” Yeonjun repeats, rolling his eyes, “that I noticed you do daily tarot pulls on yourself.”

Beomgyu nods. “Yeah, I do. Why do you ask?”

He had pulled the Ten of Wands this morning before heading to work, the card representing unnecessary obstacles in a creative or life path that only add pressure to the situation. Which is true; he’d brought his songwriting notebook with him to work, hoping he could jot some things down—but then things had gotten ridiculously busy, and Beomgyu was too tired to do much more than eat his food during his breaks.

“I’m just wondering,” Yeonjun says. “I mean, you know I know nothing about tarot. But wouldn’t it be better if you pulled a card on how the day went after the day finished? Does it not influence how it goes when you pull it in the morning?”

“Honestly, that makes sense,” Beomgyu admits. “Like, If I pulled an inherently negative card…”

“Then you’d have a negative mindset heading out for the day,” Yeonjun finishes.

Beomgyu purses his lips. “It’s definitely because of a fear of the unknown, though,” he says. “It’s why social media readers are so popular, because they do so many daily and weekly pulls. What’s the point of pulling a card after the time period is over? But it’s not like tarot provides a concrete answer, anyway.”

“Eh, I guess so,” Yeonjun says. “Have you done a whole spread for yourself recently?”

He hasn’t, but—“I’ve been meaning to, so I should.”

Taking each Major Arcana card out of the deck takes time, and it is quiet all the while. Yeonjun has a habit of just looking, falling into deep lapses of silence that Beomgyu is always afraid to disturb, until the ghost starts to talk again. “I’m gonna do a Star spread,” he explains gently to fill up the empty spaces Yeonjun leaves. “There are seven cards in this one to represent the spiritual and psychological aspects of a person in a situation. The way I learned it, the first, fourth and seventh cards represent the present situation, heart of the matter and what you’re headed towards, and the rest represent emotions, intellect, conscious and unconscious influences.”

He can tell Yeonjun isn’t paying attention by the way the ghost’s eyes glaze over halfway through. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “I got it.”

“No you don’t,” Beomgyu laughs, shaking his head, and Yeonjun scowls at him.

The hardest thing about asking the deck a question, in Beomgyu’s opinion, is staying focused all the while. He’s had moments of mindless shuffling where he eventually started to wander, and then watched a card fall out that had nothing to do with the situation, or one that just didn’t resonate in general. He tries to ignore the presence of Yeonjun nearby as he always does and pulls a residual energy card for him from the bottom—unsurprised when he flips it over to see The Emperor. He’s pulled it as residual energy for Yeonjun before, and the ghost snorts as he leaves it off to the side. “These cards are getting bored of me, I think.”

“Who can blame them?” Beomgyu says with a smirk, and Yeonjun glares at him.

For the present situation, he draws Judgement again, sighing and shaking his head as he puts it down. “It’s always amazing to me when I pull the same cards to represent a situation I’ve already asked about, to be honest,” he murmurs. “It’s like they’re insisting I pay close attention.”

“Mm,” Yeonjun hums. “Isn’t Judgement, like, a big card?”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu says. “It represents an ending stage soon to come… which is weird, because it feels like I’m just starting out.”

They’re both silent for a moment, contemplating. After a moment, Yeonjun asks, “Could the cards be reading how _you_ view it? Maybe they’re telling you that you’re too into your own head. Or that you’re further along in your journey than you thought you were. I dunno, just a possibility.”

Beomgyu pauses to consider it, squinting down at the angel with the trumpet in hand. Then he looks at the small child facing away with their arms up towards the angel, representing something one hasn’t seen yet.

“You could be a tarot reader yourself, hyung,” he jokes, picking the deck up again. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

For the card representing emotions and relationships, he draws The Empress, which represents one who nurtures. “I’m sure that card is for me,” Yeonjun says smugly. “I’m just the best, aren’t I?”

Beomgyu rolls his eyes and draws The Hermit—patience and prudence on a life path—for intellect.

For the heart of the matter, he pulls The Star.

The last time he had pulled this card, it was in reverse position, representing a lack of spiritual guidance. He’d asked about musical opportunities then but had also just been getting into tarot, so seeing the card put things so bluntly was… disheartening. But The Star upright—“Ah, this one is all about finding guidance,” he explains when Yeonjun makes a noise of question. “The lady here represents inspiration and opportunity. She’s pouring water into five small creeks and onto land, which represents growth. So… yeah, she’s a positive card.”

Yeonjun is practically glowing with happiness and satisfaction when Beomgyu manages to steal a glance at him. At first he’s mildly irritated, thinking he’s being smug again, but—

He realizes Yeonjun is simply proud of where Beomgyu is starting to head towards. Proud that his cards are reflecting it, and telling him to keep pushing. It’s an emotion of pure selflessness that hits Beomgyu right in the chest, hard to shake off as he draws the next card.

“Okay, unconscious influence here is Strength,” he says, chest fluttering as he sets the card down above The Empress. “Strength is pretty self-explanatory, I'm sure.”

“Ah, but the fact that it's _unconscious_ influence on what you've been doing... is super interesting,” Yeonjun says with a raised eyebrow. “I mean, it kinda goes to show that having more confidence in yourself is pretty important, don't you think?”

“You're right,” Beomgyu says, feeling his cheeks heat for no reason. “Anyway. For conscious influence and desires—”

He draws The Magician and pauses, frowning down at the card. “The Magician is... sort of like a guide. I guess that's the best way to describe it. He's guiding The Fool into his stages of life with everything he needs to succeed, and so in a sense he represents future success if you stay your path.”

“A guide,” Yeonjun says. There is a smile clear in his voice as he speaks, and Beomgyu turns to him.

“Are you finally gonna admit that you're some spirit guide, and not just a ghost?” Beomgyu asks. Saying it out loud feels odd, setting the energy in the room off. It's like... something they haven't acknowledged, despite acknowledging it. That Yeonjun is here for one more thing.

That he will leave when he's finished.

He tries to hide his wince and fails miserably when Yeonjun meets his gaze with something unreadable. “Would it make a difference?” The ghost asks.

 _Yes_ , Beomgyu wants to scream. “Kind of,” he says dryly. “There _is_ a difference, you know.”

“Who cares?” Yeonjun says, rolling his eyes. “Come on, pull that last card. What does it represent, again? The future?”

“Yeah, it does,” Beomgyu says tiredly, trying not to grit his teeth as he turns back to his deck, lifting it up one more time. “It does.”

He decides to shuffle one more time just to make sure the cards haven't picked up on his irritation. “You guys can make a card fall out,” he breathes, and right when he does two fly out and flip over on the ground. He closes his eyes as he leans down to pick them up, heart pounding for no reason at all as he sits back and opens his eyes to see The World and The Fool, hand in hand. “Speak of the devil,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head in awe. “End of a cycle and the start of a new one.”

“Wow. Haven't you already pulled The World before, too?” Yeonjun asks. “These cards are pretty damn insistent.”

Beomgyu laughs. “Right? It's... it's so cool to me. And The World was on top of The Fool, so I'll be completing a cycle before starting a new one again.”

“Hm... if you think of the cards as a circle altogether instead of just, like, a linear progression or whatever,” Yeonjun points out, “wouldn't The Fool be connected to The World?”

Just to be a brat, Beomgyu lifts a finger. “Actually, The Fool would be connected to the King of Pentacles. But if you're talking about just Major Arcana—”

“I _was_ talking about just Major Arcana, you idiot,” Yeonjun whines. “Don't be a smartass. Was I right, though?”

“You were, don't worry,” Beomgyu laughs, dodging Yeonjun's finger poking into his shoulder. It's the ghost's favorite form of minor punishment, giving him that shock of ice-cold deep in his bones. Beomgyu finds he doesn't mind it as much now that he's used to it, but the deep ache afterwards is still a bother. “The World moves into The Fool. It's like the belief that we're constantly moving in cycles. Once you finish something, the next thing to do is start a new one.”

“That sounds so exhausting,” Yeonjun says. “Like, the only relief you can get is... death.”

He's biting his bottom lip, a furrow between his brows. “But you're still continuing a cycle,” Beomgyu points out. “You're still here, right?”

“I am,” Yeonjun agrees. “But not fully.”

Something twists in Beomgyu's chest. “To me, you're here one hundred percent,” he says quickly. It's like the words are being pulled from him, forced to tumble out of his mouth. The one in the morning emotions, the ones that never get to come out. “You know, I haven't even really done anything about building this dream up again. But you've set me into motion. Do you realize that, hyung? How much you've changed me already, when I haven't even started?”

“Hey now, don't make me emotional,” Yeonjun jokes, but it's like his presence has dimmed, going quiet. Beomgyu is reminded of when he'd lashed out to Yeonjun, told him _You can't even eat_ , and it's as though something desperate to make amends and keep Yeonjun around erupts violently inside him.

“Yeonjun hyung,” he says earnestly, setting his cards down on the table and turning to face him fully. His chest aches with the want to take the older boy's hands into his, and he thinks for a moment that he'd do it even if it left him freezing and unable to warm back up again. “We haven't known each other for long, but I feel like you get me in a way I've never really experienced. I feel like I'm taking you for granted because I haven't said the 'thank you's I should've. I'm sure that—when you were alive, you brought other people hope too. And the fact that it's your job to continue that even after you've gone is so... it's so—”

“Are you tearing up?” Yeonjun asks, horrified. His hands reach up to—cup Beomgyu's face, maybe, or wipe tears away that he hadn't even been aware of in the first place, and the mere thought of it ignites a flame of confused emotions. But then the ghost seems to realize what he is, and what he's capable of doing, and pauses to put his hands back down jerkily, looking guilty and like he wants something he can't have so badly it hurts him, too. “Beomgyu, why are you about to cry?”

“Did I tell you Jimin hyung—you know, my boss at the coffee shop—told me I could bring my guitar in sometime? That since it's the holiday season and almost New Year's, it would be nice to have some music playing?” The emotions grow and grow inside his chest, and he isn't quite sure why he's so close to the tipping point of tears in the first place. It's as though months of self-enforced isolation have pushed him into a state of apathy, where reaching out and connecting with his emotions was so difficult that he never even bothered. It's as though Yeonjun being here now has somehow broken him out of a cycle, but the knowledge that his departure will be inevitable hurts so badly he never wants to move out of the cycle he's in even if it means he'll never get the kind of success and creative freedom he wants deep down. The exact thing Yeonjun is here to help him out with, given up just to keep him here. 

The logical part of him screams one thing, over and over: _that's not how it works_. The hopelessly lost piece of him, the one that grew into a monster of isolation and idealism as he separated himself from people who used to take care of him, whispers its side just loud enough for him to hear: _you're going to fall in love fast, and it will hurt_.

Yeonjun's eyes brighten, and Beomgyu feels horrible as he tries to reign his heart in and fails miserably. “Wait, really? That's so good! That's always a good first step. But... why do you look sad?”

“Because I wouldn't be able to accept that offer and seriously think about it without you, hyung,” Beomgyu says. “Is that silly? That self-motivation only comes around when a guide pushes you into it? I'm just—I wish I could do it myself. If I could have done this by myself, I could—”

“Let's not mull over the _what ifs_ and _could haves_ , Gyu,” Yeonjun says sternly, but his voice is still so, so gentle. Beomgyu fights against the waves crashing against his chest, begging for him to listen to his heart. “What matters is that by whatever supernatural powers that exist that I wasn't aware of when I was alive, I'm here. And I don't think it's a coincidence that this all happened to line up. That you moved in, and I watched over you for a bit before I felt like revealing myself was the only option.”

“But why did it have to be the only option?” Beomgyu says, feeling choked up. “I mean... don't get me wrong, hyung. I'm so happy I got to meet you. But... I just...”

“How are you going to blame yourself for falling into a cycle of apathy when you had just been _disowned_ by your family, Beomgyu?” Yeonjun asks quietly, reading his mind. “You know, self-forgiveness is always the most important thing you can give to yourself.”

“Hyung,” Beomgyu says weakly, squeezing his eyes shut in a last-ditch attempt to hold his tears in.

“Beomgyu,” Yeonjun says softly, his voice sweet and wrapping around his heart in a vice grip of a death sentence looming on the horizon. “You're here. You spent those five months getting used to things, and now you're here. And I'm here. And I'm going to help you, but I need you to understand that you gotta release the old and welcome the new in before we can move forward, okay?”

 _But I don't want to move forward_ , he thinks. _Because that means you'll leave at some point, and I don't think I want that just yet, or at all_.

“Okay,” he says in a small voice instead, and Yeonjun smiles.

Then he reaches out to cup his face with a hand, like he's forgotten himself again. Immediately he jerks back, but it's too late—Beomgyu gasps with the shock of it, making a small noise as the cold settles on the roof of his mouth. “Fuck, sorry,” Yeonjun says with a grimace. “I'm, um, way too impulsive.”

Beomgyu wants to tell him to be a little more impulsive next time. Instead he sucks his teeth, and wipes his tears away on his own, wishing it was Yeonjun the whole time. Then he opens his eyes to look at Yeonjun, _really_ look at him, and says “No, it feels nice. Like a reality check.”

Like a feeling of wholeness that Yeonjun has been giving him this whole time. Maybe he's just waxing poetic bullshit, but he thinks he can feel it like a real thing, surrounding him in the kind of warmth Yeonjun had probably given people the whole time he was alive. He thanks whatever deities existing out there that he gets to experience it himself. That Yeonjun can give it to him, for one last time.

“Okay,” Yeonjun says a little awkwardly, leaning back and floating up a little higher, and Beomgyu blushes when he realizes he was probably staring at him in that intense way that even Taehyun gets scared by whenever Beomgyu zones out mid-conversation or is trying to convey that he's paying attention. He slides his gaze away now, landing on his songwriting notebook, and Yeonjun claps his hands together. “Are we done experiencing emotions now? I think it's time to choose which song you're going to play for your coffee shop customers. You'll do it, right?”

“Of course,” Beomgyu laughs, releasing a weight off his chest as he does so. He shakes his head and stands, leaving the cards out in Star spread formation to grab his pencil. He'll deal with the stage fright later.

When Jimin brings it up to the rest of them excitedly, apparently having already finalized the idea, both Jeongin and Heejin gasp with excitement.

Beomgyu knows Heejin as the classic theater student. She only comes in to work on the weekends as she deals with school and extracurriculars, and when she suggests doing improv, Felix agrees to do it with her. “I'm no theater major, but I can pull off a couple different accents, I think,” he says excitedly.

“Hell yeah!” Heejin says, clapping her hands together. “Oh my god, I know _just_ the script for you. How well can you fake cry?”

“Oh, lord,” Jiheon says, shaking her head. “This is gonna go terribly, I'm sure.”

“Have a little hope,” Jimin laughs. “I mean, the only thing we need to do is keep our customers occupied, right? I'm sure improv will work out.”

“Right, right,” Jiheon says, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure it will.

“We could actually have the first person go tonight if they wanted to,” Jimin offers. “I mean, I know none of you were really prepared for this, but does anyone here have something they want to do? If not we can wait for another day, no pressure.”

It’s silent in the break room, save for Heejin’s poorly-muffled exhausted yawn. Beomgyu turns the idea of it over in his head, silently trying to hype himself up to go for it even as his stomach tries to fall out from underneath him with the sheer anxiety of it.

Then Jiheon, pulling her face into a grimace, tentatively raises a hand to say “Uh, I could do spoken word. My year just had a poetry contest and I came out second, so...?”

Jimin beams at Jiheon, who shly brushes her blue hair behind her ear. “Yay! I’ll put your name on the board for tonight, but if you want to back out at any time, let me know.”

As Beomgyu is about to leave to tend to a tired-looking customer, Jimin holds him back by the arm and looks up at him imploringly. “Soon?”

“Soon,” Beomgyu says, offering him a wobbly smile. “I won’t back out of this one. Don’t worry.”

“Good,” Jimin says, smiling back.

That evening, long after the winter sun has set under the horizon to linger for another day, Jiheon takes a stand on the small stage. She adjusts the mic to her height, and Jeongin gives her a thumbs up that makes her cheeks go rosy under the warm mood lighting of the coffee shop. Customers set their phones down to watch curiously as Jiheon reaches a hand out and says, “Close your eyes and imagine, for a moment, you and I under the sunset. I’ve been wondering about you and your dreams, and what it takes to get there…”

Beomgyu, in the middle of making an overcomplicated drink, closes his eyes.

He opens his eyes the next morning to Yeonjun miming guitar motions and humming under his breath and says, “I’m going to do it today.”

Yeonjun jumps, which as a ghost means he flies four feet up into the air before he manages to catch himself, coming back down and giving Beomgyu a dirty look as Beomgyu laughs despite the early morning exhaustion. “Gonna do what?” He asks.

Beomgyu sits up slowly and stretches, eyes tracking the rays of early morning sunlight filtering in. He should go on a walk today, he thinks. Should come home afterwards and discuss ideas of what to do over breakfast with Yeonjun, who will busy himself with finding the weirdest positions to sit in midair, something he says he still isn't used to.

“I'm gonna perform today,” he says, determination flooding him. “It's Friday today, so technically our busiest day of the week even at night. I—I'm gonna do it.”

The excitement of it all will probably peter itself out until the last moment, when all the courage drains itself out of him into deep regret over agreeing to do it, but he fortifies his defenses against the anxiety as best as possible. And it's worth it too, to see Yeonjun's reaction: bright-eyed and practically glowing with excitement for him, halting his guitar-miming to clasp his hands together and float towards him. “Oh my god, this is so good! _Beomgyu_ , this is so good. I'm happy for you. Just imagine—small performances like this, growing into something more over time.”

“I don't know if I could've agreed to do it without you,” Beomgyu says. He's already said it before, but there's something about the way he can say it now with none of the melancholy and none of the previous frustration he'd had in himself. “I mean, this is nothing, but—”

“Baby steps, sweetheart,” Yeonjun says with that smug smirk of his. To which Beomgyu would be annoyed, but the _sweetheart_ he'd tacked on is effectively rotting his brain. “It's all about the little things. Not everything has to start out with some grand gesture of future fame, Gyu. In fact, most dreams start out small. So small you don't even know they're dreams yet.”

He says it with so much feeling Beomgyu can feel it like vibrations in the air. Silently, he decides he isn't going to go on a walk today. It wouldn't be worth it, going out into cold winter air without Yeonjun to talk his ear off with him.

“Breakfast?” Yeonjun asks cutely, reading his mind.

“Breakfast,” Beomgyu laughs. “Let's figure out what I'm going to play.”

He makes Felix film it for him. “For when you're famous and walking down memory lane?” The older boy jokes, taking his phone out.

Beomgyu thinks about how Yeonjun won't be able to watch in real time. His soul, as explained by the ghost, is too closely tied to the apartment he'd lived in, and there's really no way to leave. “Something like that,” he murmurs.

Baby steps are the best way to describe his walk onto the stage. Briefly, he wonders how the hell Jiheon managed to stand up there and speak her words, the kind that made a few customers cry with how she'd touched their hearts.

He has no idea if he'll be able to touch their hearts in the same way, but he doesn't know if that's what he's aiming for just yet. That can be a goal for future Beomgyu, the one who knows how to take his experiences and everything he's bottled up tightly in his heart and turn them into gold, but not the untouchable kind. The kind, he hopes, that other people his age, people in the same situations, will be able to carry close to their chests. A gem of hope in a sea of what Seoul feels like sometimes—so much opportunity it leaves you in a standstill.

For now, he just wants to get this over with.

He's titled this one Maze in the Mirror. Yeonjun had given him a nod of approval when he told him this was a song he'd been playing with since moving out, even though he hadn't had the energy to add much. But with the help of Yeonjun, who floated next to him on the couch and closed his eyes, listening intently even as Beomgyu played the wrong strings and cursed under his breath after messing up upwards of ten times, the song is, well...

It's mostly finished. Certainly not perfect, though Beomgyu is still trying to teach himself that perfection is never necessary when you've just started out.

He closes his eyes as he sings. Falls into the lyrics, and tries to let go of the version of himself he'd been afraid would stick with him forever after just a few months. The audience listens intently, and in the brief moment afterwards, in between just finishing and the audience's standing ovation, he thinks, _if this is what I'll have, I want it all._ Even the pain. Even the loss of someone he's not sure he ever really got to know in the first place.

**ten of cups**

Here is the thing about attachments—it is always, always far too easy to forget that some things come to an end. When Beomgyu wakes up one morning to Yeonjun watching him with something indiscernible in his gaze, lips twisted into a small frown, something heavy settles into his chest.

“Not yet,” he whispers.

“No, not yet,” Yeonjun says contemplatively. “But I can feel it. A fading away of sorts. I'm still here, don't worry.”

He says it so matter-of-factly that Beomgyu immediately feels like an idiot for being so overdramatic. “Hey,” Yeonjun says gently, seeing straight through him as always. “Love, I'm still here. You can relax.”

Beomgyu's chest hurts with how badly he wants to be able to touch him. Instead he tries his best to ignore the burning behind his eyelids and says, “I know, don't worry,” in a shaky voice. Yeonjun doesn't look like he believes him in the slightest, but Beomgyu ignores that, too.

Yeonjun reveals more about his life as Beomgyu starts to play again. He can't tell if the ghost views it as some genuine kind of reward, or if he feels comfortable enough now to sit back and let Beomgyu learn about him now that Beomgyu's kicked off his journey, albeit quietly.

But he tells Beomgyu about how he was an only child; about his best friend and roommate, Wooyoung, and how college life pushed him into a kind of self-confidence that felt foreign to him, at first. “It still feels weird,” he admits. “I mean, there's the cocky bastard persona as a joke, and then there's acknowledging your success and feeling genuinely proud of yourself.”

 _I'm proud of you_ , Beomgyu wants to blurt so badly the urge to be impulsive nearly makes him dizzy. But he bites his tongue, staring down at a client's love spread instead and nodding contemplatively.

In a sense, he understands. Yeonjun says it all with a kind of melancholy tone that Beomgyu can feel from across the small room of his apartment.

It fills the air and gives him breath. It settles into the deepest cavities of his heart, the empty ones meant to be filled up by someone who understands him, and—

Yikes. He's getting too poetic, he thinks. Ew. _It's getting weird_. Yeonjun's effect on him, or whatever.

“Or maybe you've just had the sad poet in you all along, my friend,” Yeonjun says in a mockingly whimsical voice that makes Beomgyu throw his pencil at him. Of course, it goes straight through his stomach, and Yeonjun squeaks. “Hey, what the hell! I wasn't even done yet, I was gonna call you a _classic_ Pisces.”

“Don't even start,” Beomgyu growls. “You overly-analytical Virgo.”

“That's not even an insult,” Yeonjun sniffs. “Virgos are the best sign. But this is coming from someone who doesn't believe in astrology, so—”

Which results in Beomgyu throwing a pen at him, this time launching itself through Yeonjun's right shoulder. The ghost flinches and then glares at him. “How can you know nothing about tarot _and_ not believe in astrology at the same time?” Beomgyu says in disbelief.

“I believe that's how most of the population operates,” Yeonjun says dryly. “And stop throwing your shit at me! You're the worst dongsaeng ever.”

“Payback for all the times you've given me that ghost shock of yours, hyung,” Beomgyu says. Of course, his shitty little brain jumps to when Yeonjun had tried to cup his cheek, though he snaps out of that quick enough to not do or say anything embarrassing. “From now on I'm gonna find increasingly bigger objects to throw at you.”

“You're so mean,” Yeonjun says with a pout. “To think that I can't even leave this apartment, and you'd torture me like this!” Then he pauses, tilting his head to the side. “Not that I want to leave.”

“You don't?” Beomgyu says doubtfully. “There's not a piece of you that wants to leave, hyung?”

“I want to,” Yeonjun sighs. “But what would I find? It's such an irrational want, to go back to what you can't have. And you're new. For now, sticking around you is something I _can_ have, so I'm not going to complain.”

Beomgyu opens his mouth, and then closes it. Yeonjun gives him a grin. “Cat got your tongue, baby?”

Beomgyu thinks, _what the hell is with all the pet names_. “Stop teasing me,” he whines, mortified as he covers his face with a hand.

“Sorry, except I'm not really sorry. You get so red, I can't help it,” Yeonjun laughs.

The day is spent curled up on the couch and poring over lyrics. Yeonjun insists on letting Beomgyu take regular breaks in between, just to make sure he doesn't accidentally burn himself out with a need to be productive, but then Beomgyu spends those breaks finishing up tarot readings for people who bought them with the intention of learning about new romantic opportunities, or future career opportunities, or—and this is Beomgyu's favorite kind—the Bloom readings, ones focused on the spiritual aspects of what one needs to grow. 

He isn't ashamed when he records his readings for others and ends up crying pulling specific cards. Weirdly enough, he'd been afraid of doing it in front of Yeonjun, but having the older boy hang around him feels more like a fortification of openness. The energy the older boy brings is one of genuine kindness. Like a warm blanket in the early mornings to protect him from the winter chill. A voice saying _You're always valid_. It's something he doesn't want to let go.

He learns to do this instead: take everything Yeonjun's taught him, from believing in himself to setting up a routine that allows for as much self-care and productivity in the same breath as possible, and hold it close for himself.

He knows Yeonjun can tell how desperate he is to keep him around even though it's hard

It feels like some comical race to a finish line of sorts. It isn't one that's defined, and Beomgyu has no idea how long it'll take to get there, but it looms over him nonetheless.

In the middle of his anxious card shuffling, The Tower falls out reversed, and he groans. The card of change incoming, and a need to get rid of the obliviousness surrounding it.

When he tells Yeonjun, the ghost doesn't laugh like he expects. Instead he fixes Beomgyu with a warm gaze and says, “You know the change has to happen, but I'll still be here anyway, right? No matter where my not-so-corporeal form heads off to.”

It's something straight out of the ghostly storybooks, the way Yeonjun is looking at him right now. The kinds of ghost stories that tell of eventual doom for everyone involved.

But something about Yeonjun feels different. He feels vibrant, and alive, and he always has, and with the way he's already imprinted himself in everything Beomgyu does—in this newfound drive to figure out his passions—Beomgyu knows one thing: Yeonjun will never leave.

It doesn't stop him from wishing for what he can't have, anyway. As goes for everything in human nature, he begins spending every waking moment, with Yeonjun or without, daydreaming over another life. One where he could switch majors, instead of dropping out for some time, and then maybe he'd be able to join the dance team Yeonjun used to be on. And that's how they'd meet, with Beomgyu making heart eyes so comical Soobin would laugh and Taehyun would bang his head against the wall.

They'd start to talk, eventually. Maybe they would practice together, Beomgyu begging for some extra time after sessions for Yeonjun to help him catch up on moves he couldn't quite get right. And those practices would turn into a tentative friendship, before moving through its stages, and one day Beomgyu would realize that Yeonjun gave him a feeling of completeness that he knew he would never experience without him.

Needless to say, Beomgyu is unhealthily obsessed.

“I don't blame you,” Soobin says thoughtfully as he pops a rice ball into his mouth. “I mean, I've only talked to Yeonjun a couple of times since we met and he's in _my_ head all the time too. Not just 'cause he's a ghost, of course.”

They're eating lunch together at Soobin's apartment, after a long deal of persuasion from the older boy's end to get him to leave his place—and, by association, Yeonjun—to hang out. Not that Beomgyu doesn't want to talk to him, but he's fallen into a mindset of prioritizing what's temporary over what he'll always have.

Which is fucked up, is what Yeonjun said. “Of course I understand why you're so obsessed with me, but the assumption that you'll _always_ have the people around you is too overconfident. Cherish every moment you have with everyone you meet, and everyone important to you,” the ghost said seriously. “Now, go eat with your cute friend. You should bring him over sometime, seriously!”

“He’s leaving soon, hyung,” Beomgyu says miserably after a moment, and Soobin gives him a soft, worried look.

“Leaving, as in…” he says, trailing off. When Beomgyu doesn’t respond, he winces. “Ah, I see.”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu mutters. “I’m just waiting at this point. It’s like some shitty countdown.”

Soobin is silent for a moment. Then he asks, “Was a part of you seriously expecting him to stick around for the rest of your life, Beomgyu? I honestly think that’s… a bit selfish. The kind that you can’t control, yeah, but still.”

Beomgyu frowns up at him. “I… I’m trying not to be selfish.”

“I always appreciate how self-aware you are,” Soobin says. “Thank god that’s a conversation we won’t need to have. But you know you can’t go through the five stages of grief as fast as possible and before he even leaves, right? You need to experience each emotion one by one. You’ll experience them all at once, too. But that’s for later.”

“I don’t want that,” Beomgyu groans. “This is like, the worst possible advice you could’ve given me.”

“But it’s the only advice that’ll work,” Soobin laughs. “I’d like to see Yeonjun one more time, though.”

“He wants to see you too,” Beomgyu sighs. And then—“Do you think I have it in me, hyung? To do all of this?”

It’s a burst of insecurity that would embarrass him if it weren’t totally valid. Soobin doesn’t even take a breath or think about it, reaching out to hold Beomgyu’s hand over the table. “Don’t you dare make yourself any less than you are, ever,” Soobin says. “You choose what you want to flourish in your life. Everything is in your hands, and if it isn’t, take it and make that yours, too. Do you understand me?”

“I understand,” Beomgyu whispers. Soobin’s gaze is fierce for a moment before he sits back in his chair again and gives him a smile.

“Good,” Soobin says. “Now, let’s go back to your place.”

“I’m gonna give you Changbin’s phone number,” Yeonjun says on his last day. “Don’t even ask me how I remember it, but he works in a studio. Dreams of producing music for himself and other fresh-out-of-the-water rookies looking for a chance to shine. Seriously, he’s really good.”

Beomgyu has his lamp on, and the lights overhead glare white and fill every part of the room. His candles are lit, too. Yet Yeonjun has already faded so much that he still struggles to see him.

“Why are we talking about your friend,” Beomgyu mutters.

“Because I’d like to continue helping you even when I’m gone,” Yeonjun says matter of factly. When Beomgyu winces, he backtracks and says, “Sorry, that was too blunt. But my point still stands, you know.”

“It does,” Beomgyu sighs. “Hyung, I wish I got to know you.”

“In another lifetime we would have been friends, I think,” Yeonjun says thoughtfully. “I don’t doubt it.” Then he gives him a conspiratory grin. “Maybe we would’ve been idols, or something.”

Beomgyu laughs. “Maybe that’s how we’ll reincarnate.”

“Oh, interesting,” Yeonjun says. “You know what? That’s definitely a less depressing way to look at it.”

He’s so see-through that it barely gives Beomgyu a headache to look through him and stare at the mug of tea he’d left on the counter. “Hyung,” Beomgyu says, weaker this time. “I think I fell in love with you.”

Yeonjun stares at him silently. “Did you?”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu says. “And I shouldn’t have. Because I’ll just miss you all the more when you leave tonight.”

And Yeonjun sighs. It’s the kind that feels like release as he sinks down lower, until he’s floating right above the couch. “Thank you for loving me,” he says quietly. “I think that’s what I wanted. To be loved, one last time. And to give it back to someone fully.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Beomgyu says miserably.

“I’ll only leave if you forget about me,” Yeonjun says. “I’ll be here, even if we can’t talk. _Beomgyu_. Do you hear me? You’d better be listening, because I’ll say this once—I love you too, even though we haven’t known each other for long. If you want to keep me alive, the best way to do so is to go on living for me. I’ll wait until our next life together. I don’t care how overly romantic that sounds.”

Beomgyu reaches out, tears glistening in his eyes. “I’ll keep living for you. God, we're so cheesy.”

Yeonjun reaches out to hold his hand and doesn't respond, searching his face. It is simple. The whole thing takes about three seconds, and only ever lasted a little more than a month. But for once, the older boy doesn’t feel so cold it hurts. His hand is warm, and his eyes are soft. 

Beomgyu likes to think no goodbyes are involved in the first place, but who’s to say? This is his perspective. He’ll let himself be an idealist.

**the fool**

Changbin folds his hands behind his head as he leans back in the spinny chair, looking well and truly satisfied with himself as Beomgyu steps out back into the instrument control room. “I think that was the last bit,” he says with a lopsided grin. “Everything sounds good to me! I know it's kind of last-second and all, but that last harmony just had to be in the song.”

“No, I get it. Thank you for deciding to add it in,” Beomgyu laughs. His stomach swoops with excitement for what's to come, and soon. Suddenly everything is just out of reach, and the idea leaves him speechless.

Even the stars, out in the night sky, are just a breadth of a hair's away from falling into his palms.

“I can't believe everything'll be out just next week,” Changbin says. “Aish, a year of preparation. You got so much done in the meantime, too. Aren't you proud?”

He is. Things have moved quickly since Yeonjun's departure, but the mixtape he'd started working on is as finished as it'll ever be. He's caught perfectionism by the throat so many times now, feeling the inadequacy creeping over him to the point where he feels exhausted... but it's the satisfied kind, now. The kind that fills his belly with the knowledge that he's working hard enough for ten people right now, and yet it's all for him.

In between furiously writing lyrics down and getting acquainted with the very same people that would boost him up to his dream, he's continued his tarot side business with no intentions of stopping, though he's gone mostly part-time on it. He's had to keep working, of course, but with the set weekly performances mostly-guaranteeing him some tips and Jimin giving him a raise, things have gotten a little easier. Not to say it's been truly easy when life has consisted of eating, sleeping, and breathing music, but it's worth it. It is. He refuses to give up now.

And he isn't ashamed to say that a major motivator is someone who lives in his heart. Will live in his heart, for the rest of his life. The knowledge that he can't continue talking to him still hurts, and living by himself hasn't really helped, because the only thing he has to talk to are his tarot cards again.

But he has to remind himself of who he has around him. Taehyun is never one to turn down an opportunity to bully him into resting, and Soobin shows up at his door at random to bring him baked goods from Jiwon. Jiheon tells him one morning at the coffee shop that she's refused her parent's insistence to do nursing school and is taking up creative writing instead. Heejin scores the lead spot at the winter play, and Beomgyu is still contemplating whether or not he should go back to college just to pursue music. 

He's finally introduced Kai to Taehyun and Soobin finally, too, amused when Taehyun looks his neighbor up and down and then blushes, glancing away.

So yeah, things have been as good as they'll get. Maybe not as good as they _could_ be, but Beomgyu knows he can't complain.

Jisu, who knows enough about tarot to talk to Beomgyu about it when they run into each other in the elevator sometimes, calls it the voice channeling effect. Beomgyu has never told her about Yeonjun, dancing around it only vaguely enough for her to give her an answer to his question—that while tarot is simply a way to provide answers to what the soul already knows, it can also be a way for spirit guides to communicate to someone who wishes to listen.

He would look stupid to some fly on the wall watching on, he thinks. It would seem pathetic, to shuffle his cards and ask, ever so gently, “Are you there, hyung?”

It would be wholeheartedly shameful for some person to see the tears slipping out when The Star falls out, landing on his desk perfectly upright and forcing laughter out, startling in its joy, too fast for him to catch up. But he'll take what he can get. Besides, the cards have never been wrong. And Yeonjun, with all his encouragement and hand outstretched, asking him to dance towards his dreams, has never been wrong either.

“I'm proud,” Beomgyu says to Changbin firmly. “And I'm ready.”

“You better be,” Changbin laughs. “We're gonna be famous within the year, I hope.”

Even if they weren't famous by next winter, Beomgyu would keep pushing. Because that's what people do for love—or what _he_ does, at least.

Poetic bullshit aside, Beomgyu has never been more ready.

**Author's Note:**

> ♡ four of swords: rest, recuperation and contemplation  
> ♡ knight of pentacles: hard work, perseverance and productivity  
> ♡ ace of wands: dynamic birth of a new creative idea  
> ♡ ten of cups: completion with the knowledge that those who surround you love you  
> ♡ the fool: first card in the tarot deck. “the urge to change overcomes the fear involved.”
> 
> [twitter!](https://twitter.com/9thstellium)


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